


It's In the Genes

by Medie



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Collection: Fandom Stocking 2015, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 12:27:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5666053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's always taken after her father.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's In the Genes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mareel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mareel/gifts).



> Along time ago, I wrote a fic for Mareel for Christmas. [These Many Years](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5662942). It seemed high time that a sequel was in order.

It's not that Mallorie isn't expecting it. While her dads have always been great at protecting them, she's never been ignorant of the scrutiny she and her siblings have been under. Her parents are the Commander in Chief of Starfleet and the President of the United Federation of Planets; she's heard the word dynasty bandied about more than once. Long before she'd even thought of applying to the academy.

When she does, though, it's as though someone fires a starter's pistol. The subspace news agencies light up with stories about her history, her education, and enough speculation to make New Vegas start taking odds. 

The attention is enough to make Mallorie sigh. "I know I shouldn't be surprised," she says, handing her uncle a spanner, "but I was hoping there'd be a little less grandiose language about it all." 

Trip laughs. "Well, you know how folks get about those things. There's nothing like a good story. Daughter of two Starfleet legends growing up and following in their footsteps? It's a wonder they aren't already assigning you to the Enterprise."

She grimaces. "They are."

"There you go then," Trip closes the panel and hands back the spanner. "Just know what you're getting into and remember? Can't be half as bad as bringing home your first boyfriend to meet your folks."

As reassuring statements go, it shouldn't be particularly successful, but it is. 

The Academy makes no concessions to her parentage and gives her no quarter; not that she wants them to. She's exhausted when she falls into bed every night, gritty-eyed when she wakes up in the morning, and she loves every second of it.

"You look like your father," Dad says, when he calls. He's sitting in his office with a mug of something steaming at his elbow. His suit-coat's gone, his collar is loosened, and she can see the weariness in his eyes. 

It's been a long day, she can tell, and one that's only going to get longer. She smiles, leaning on her desk. "Which one?"

He chuckles. "Fair point. It's been a bit of a day for us both."

"I can imagine." She rests her chin on her fist. "Nothing you can talk about, I guess?"

"Not really, no, sorry." Only her father would apologize for that. "I guess I just wanted to see you." 

"I can think of worse reasons to get a call from the President." Mallorie stretches her neck and grins at him. "Papa could probably list more than a few of them." 

"That he could," Dad laughs. "So, I hear you got your survival training assignment. Should I be expecting a complaint from the Vulcan Embassy anytime soon?"

"No, but I make no promises as to what happens the next time T'Pol comes to dinner." Just her luck that she'd be in the first Academy class to take survival training on Vulcan's Forge. 

"Anyone giving you hell about it yet?" Dad asks. It's the tone of his voice that reminds her that he has some idea of what she's going through. Some. Being Henry Archer's son had, after all, only made him famous on _one_ planet. 

"Not yet," Mallorie shrugs. It's inevitable, but it's not as though she isn't prepared for it. "T'Pol's told me that this course is the one they use for the Kahs-wan. So, you know, if seven-year-olds can handle it; Academy cadets don't have much room for complaint." She grins. "As for me, well, I'm reasonably sure every family vacation I had growing up counts."

It's telling how difficult a day he's had and how tired he is that her dad laughs as hard as he does. Still, it's good to see him laugh. Even better when he sneaks a wicked grin her way and says, "Remind me to tell your father about that." 

She laughs. "Only if you promise to record it when you do." 

"I'll do that," he says, winking. "If you promise to let me bunk with you." 

She pictures her roommates' reaction to that and, this time, it's her laughing until she cries. "Reasonably sure they'd cashier me out of the service for that." 

"Well, to be fair, I don't think they wrote a rule about hiding politicians in your dormroom," he points out. "Plus, I _am_ your father."

"Who is currently picturing his husband's reaction to that plan," she bats her eyelashes. "You're terrible, Dad."

"It's why you both love me," he says, not denying a thing. "You know we're both really proud of you, right? It's not easy being where you are and nobody could handle it better."

Tears that have nothing to do with laughter prick at her eyes. "Thank you."

Dad's looking a little misty-eyed himself, but then mischief sneaks into his gaze once more. "Don't thank me yet. If your father doesn't stop bragging at the others about you, they may cashier _him_ out of the service and then your brother will disown us both." It's Matty's opinion that running Starfleet beats running the entire Federation by _light-years_.

Privately, Mallorie just might agree with him, but she'll never tell. 

"Well, we'll see how my survival course on Vulcan goes," Mallorie says. "If I fail miserably--"

"Not possible," Dad interrupts. "T'Pol won't allow it. You've got a break coming up and she does have that estate in Death Valley."

He laughs at her groan and she makes a face. "Oh, sure, laugh, but you won't be the one running in eighty-degree heat."

"Don't be so sure," he says with a grimace. "This is T'Pol we're talking about. Odds are, she'll have me and your father both out there."

"That just might be worth it the agony," she decides. "It would be just like old times." There may or may not be glee in her voice when she says that. Possibly. Again she'll never tell. "Matty will _love_ it." 

There's more than a little pride in his eyes when he says, "You always were your father's daughter."

"You are not allowed to get teary-eyed over me torturing my little brother."

"Please, I am not getting teary-eyed over that," he says, picking up the mug of coffee. "I'm getting teary-eyed over the very Malcolm-like glee you're getting out of it." 

"Anyone ever tell you that you're an old softie, President Archer?" 

He chuckles into his mug. "The Klingons might beg to differ on that."

"They don't beg," she points out. "They might loudly complain to everyone for a few hundred light years about your lack of honor, though."

"That they would," he agrees. "Particularly insightful on your part. Ever consider politics?"

"Let's get the Academy out of the way first, Dad. Worry about running the galaxy later."

He smiles. "Sounds like a plan. Just remember, you're supposed to be coming to dinner this Sunday. No ducking out this time."

"Hey, last time was a training mission. I had no control over it." She grins. "You, however--"

"You made us promise to stay out of it, remember?" He winks. "I seem to remember something about the entire sector hanging over your shoulder."

"It does feel like it at times," she sighs, "but, yes, I did. So, training missions aside, I'll see you on Sunday. In the meantime, promise me something else?"

"Get some sleep?" 

She nods. "You can't run the Federation if you run yourself into the ground first."

"I know, I will when I finish these reports. You do the same. You're no good to Starfleet if you pass out on the quad." He smiles. "See you Sunday?"

The screen blanks out; her father's face replaced by the Academy logo. 

Mallorie looks over her shoulder at her bed, then picks up her PADD. She'll get some sleep, but Dad's not the only one with reports to read.

She always was her father's daughter; both of them, in fact.


End file.
